Gotham Knights
by Tenial
Summary: Batman cannot endure. Everyone wants a little control, a little power... a little revenge, a legacy... but all of that is a part of life... life is a big question mark... And so is Batman.
1. A Girl to Laugh With

_"See, to them, you're just a FREAK... like me."_

* * *

"Okay, so... Aaaaand... wow, that's pretty good. So you're equipped for this, you say," Mr. Fascier mused, looking over her file with interest.

She moved her feet anxiously. She wanted the warden to say, "Alright! Take 'im, I think you can stitch the cracks in his brain, doc." She wanted this. Just hearing about the freak enticed her.

"Yes, I am."

The man looked through the peephole in the door. "You ARE ten years experienced with lunatics, but this one screws the pooch, kid." He twitched. And he whispered, "God, it's like he knows…"

She wanted to look over his shoulder. "Is that why you hold interviews outside his room?"

"Yes," the doctor said, looking back at her. He was now looking at her to make a decision about her. "I believe that candidates deserve an on-site observation. He almost destroyed this city."

"Yeah, well, as far as you should be concerned, sir, if he destroyed Jupiter I would still give him couch with pillows and Kleenex. The man is probably crying for help. Ya ever wonder if he got hugged? I dun think criminal masterminds got hugged while they still had their Huggies."

"Heh, I like ya. I can only wish you could keep that empathy," he said, motioning to the guard. "For a longer period."

She blinked; the guard was unlocking the door and readying his night stick. "Well, I endure." The excitement, building up in her legs and climbing to her cerebellum, became ecstatic yet perplexing now. She wanted a challenge in her life, some sort of riddle to unravel, because she wanted proof she was worth her life and job.

But was this worth it?

The doctor grinned. "G'luck."

"So… We bein' here is considered..."

"Consider this the actual job interview. Gimme something from this joker clearly and I'll keep you."

She motioned to move, being inspired by her mysterious excitement, but managed to stop herself; she was confused a little more. "Clear? Keep? Am I so precious that I'm gonna be hired for counting oranges in a bag?"

"Sure. Unless you are like the other therapists, I'll gladly keep you as another patient… like the other therapists."

Well, I got this far, she thought; I might as well get her done. So she motioned to accept his motion.

"By the way, Miss Quinn," the warden halted her. "You're not from around here, 'aintcha'?"

"Nah, I'm a little south from 'ere."

"Hmm. Welcome to Gotham, hope you enjoy it here. And here as well."

She gave him a dark look as the door was being opened for her.

"Oh, and you dun need to say hello. Just go ahead and talk to him."

"But why—"

Then the guard opened the door. Even she, who had talked to a lot of crazy people, and gained lots of khutzpa from them, felt thwarted by 'John.'

He just sat there in his chair at the table, facing the door and glaring. He was dirty and unkempt as if he had not cleaned himself for a long while. He sat motionless and in wait. He was relaxed, however, so he was waiting patiently. She half-expected the paint to be all over his head. He was still scary. So scary. So sad, too.

The warden let her enter first. _Great, thanks Hotshot Warden of Crazyland, why dontcha check my panties to see if they're still dry? Nah, they're still dry._

As she entered, though, she still had to trust her good side and find the goodness within this crazed man. It was so hard, though!

She entered, at once sensing an aura of madness come upon her. It all came from this man.

He said not to say hello, but Harley didn't want to resist. She had to listen, but she could lose this job.

"Heya, there," she said as cheerfully as her job description allowed her. The warden gave her a slight kick in the heel.

But she noticed a difference in the patient, now. He became interested. In her.

"John—"

The patient smacked his lips. He hated the name.

"…how you feeling," continued the Warden.

He licked his scars again. "Who's the Slim Jane?"

_Say what?_ She thought to herself. She didn't know where he was insulting her or complimenting her. She had been working out lately, but, she still had that layer of baby fat she could never get rid of.

'John' kept his eyes on her.

"This is Doctor Harley Quinn."

'John' said nothing.

The warden shrugged. He tapped Harley on the shoulder, reassuringly for good luck, and then left and closed the door behind him.

Silence. Silence.

So she took a seat, and she put a smile on her face despite how scared she felt. She put her hands together, since she had nothing to write on or with, and placed them on the table. "So… John."

"That's not my real name, y'know," he said suddenly. His voice was as gangly as his body type, like a slippery slide; sly and slick. "It's kinda like a pass-by name. It gets boring to them for a while when it's always 'The Joker, The Joker, HI The Joker;' Shortens conversation, y'know. But it's not good enough to remember. John is just too… boring."

"Mmm. Joker is kinda sexy, too."

He paused. "You remind me of my mother. I liked my mother. But she was really into tough love, kinda like a wolf in winter. Every time I fell of the horse, she hit me, and told me to get myself up again. Tough love. It wasn't enough to just put the bar into my mouth when I swore. Tough, but love nevertheless. In fact, would you like to know how I got these scars?"

"Nah."

The Joker paused. "My sister's boyfriend was a bad boy. My sister and ma were very pretty; like you, and very fun people. Now my sister's boyfriend—"

"Why Joker?"

"He, well, comes at them with a knife—"

"Somewhat already took Ace?"

"He-well-um, with the knife-he—"

"Mmm, a real freak with words aintcha."

"LISTEN TO ME!" he growled. His voice grew dark and deep.

Harley remained nonchalant, unimpressed. "Were the women in your life Queens? Or did they leave you with jack shit?"

The Joker blinked, then licked his lips and leaned in. "Yer kinda hard to catch."

"Indeed."

"Ooooo, a-haaaa. I wonder, if I caught you, what would you be?... a little catfish."

"PLEASE. I'm cooler than cats, faster than fish. I eat cats for breakfast."

"No fish?"

"Of course. Good for health."

"Actually it wasn't a knife that my sister's boyfriend had. It was a fishhook."

"He wanted to catch the women in your family, eh?"

"Not a good fisher. He caught me instead. Accident, of course, although, now I think about it, he always was a tad bit funny with other guys…"

"Considering giving him a call?"

The Joker pursed his lips, trying to figure her out.

Harley grinned. "Or do you wanna make him smile?"

A longer pause. Then, a corner of his lips lifted, and he smiled. Gross, but, a smile.

A buzz in the air, as if a fly. No, it was the warden telling Harley to stop. So, she complied.

"It was nice to meetcha, Mister Joker," she said, getting up and heading for the door.

"Don't wanna stay and play together for a while, hmm?"

The door opened. Harley stopped, and looked over her shoulder. Teasingly. "Nah. I ain't that 'batty'." And she left the room.

The door closed, and Harley could feel sanity come upon her again. She took a breath, and then exhaled. The Warden did not seem too pleased.

"Okay, so I said hello. It doesn't kill to give even bad people courtesy, Mr. Faiscer."

The warden didn't say anything just then. He developed a smile. "You can flirt with The Joker next week, same time."

"Flirt?" she was being led the way out of the asylum by the warden.

"Eh, don't push it. You're doing so much better than the other shrinks. Believe me, you're passing one of their cells right now."

She still felt uncomfortable even when she left the gates. Uncomfortable because this place was so dirty. Uncomfortable, however, due to the yearning she felt. The Joker found her interesting, and she found him interesting. He was so mysterious and had no personal history. If only she could find him out, maybe she could turn him into a sane man. Maybe he was sane and only choosing insanity to bide his time. Well, that's kinda crazy too.


	2. Thorn in the Side

* * *

Jésus remembered running, but he remembered seeing everything through a red lens as if blood covered his eyes.

Then he remembered the rest of the previous 24 hours.

Something, then, pressed to his lips; a vapor into his mouth. He knew it—

He spat it manically, refusing it, grabbed the glass from which the liquid came from and threw it to the wall screaming.

But the glass did not hit a wall, and it was, instead, cast many yards away to finally crash upon the rocks. He thought he was back in his cell.

He gazed up, and Carlos was standing over him. The old man was recovering from the shock after Jésus took the bottle. Then Jésus had to wonder.

"What were you doing?"

"Every 12 hours, Jésus. You need it or you will suffer side effects."

Jésus exhaled forcibly out his nostrils, a tint of anger seeping out.

Carlos leaned over to grab another bottle from the bag, the contents of which contained maybe forty-five bottles.

Jésus drunk this time. "I had the dream again."

Suddenly, Sirens.

"Up, come! Let's go, let's go, let's go-" panted Carlos. Jésus jumped onto his feet, grabbed Carlos and they ran.

This time they ran in daylight. This time, the soldiers saw their target clearly. This time, they had to believe what they saw. The reports that morning said, in paraphrase…

**The eight-foot tall, muscular assailant—a.k.a Test #1 to Dr. Consul—outran our vehicles while carrying Dr. Carlos Mentigo. They have been running away for some time. Sources conclude that Test #1 will reach the borders in an hour.**

* * *

_"Top of the news, the streets were witness to a bombing at Nathaniel B. Kane Hospital at approximately 11:14 this morning. The bomb destroyed a rather small portion of the building but injured twelve people while killing three. Sources say the bomb was planted earlier this morning and can only conclude that it was done so by someone from the inside. Inconspicuously, the southeast corner of the building was the target thereby taking out the entire section. Police are investigating this matter as we speak.  
_

_And later today, a hostage situation arose in Gotham Square at exactly 5 PM with a gunman in a clown costume, holding an executive from Powerlink Corporations at gunpoint, approaching the square and speaking to the crowd for the release of known terrorist, The Joker. Before police or media could arrive, the gunman had executed the executive and fled in a getaway van. Coming to us live from the aftermath of the scene, Talia Gomez of GCN is reporting. Talia, what is the word?"_

_"Thank you Mike, the word of the streets is fear. The appearance of a Joker-like lackey and the act of murdering executive Tom Marrowitz has shaken everyone here and, no doubt, everyone else in the city who knows. The gunman yelled to the crowd repeatedly for the release of The Joker, and he threatened them to agree with him or he would murder Marrowitz. For the sake of the hostage, many complied. But when questioned if they would do what he says, many of the crowd protested. In response, the gunman shot Tom Marrowitz at point blank range. The gunman then ran to a getaway van, shouting 'Release Joker, Release Joker.' Police arrived to clear the scene and are currently investigating it."_

_"Talia, can you find out what the police have discovered?"_

_"Police will not allow reporters to inquire for anything into the matter."_

_"Anything?"_

_"None at all, Mike."_

_"Have they given any information as to when they may share details?"_

_"Police say they will reveal anything concerning the case as soon as possible to the public."_

_"Thank you Talia. Now let's turn to analysts Kevin DeLuis and Carmen Laguna. Kevin, what is your take on these acts of terrorism?"_

_"Mike, the bombing and the hostage situation cannot be linked except by the amount of terror they have enlisted in Gotham today. I can, however, point my finger as to who could have been involved with the bombing because of who was supposed to have been moved to Nathaniel B. Kane Hospital the previous evening. Ex-mafia head Salvatore Maroni, paralyzed below the waist, was instead relocated to East Gotham at the last minute. My guess is that the terrorists are mafia thugs trying to take control of the mob seat from Maroni."_

_"Come on, Carmen, who would dare cross Maroni?"_

_"Uh, those thugs--"_

_"But they're probably his faithful followers, why would they want to kill their own boss?"_

_"To usurp his power, Carmen."_

_"I just don't buy it. A man with that power, who would dare wanna try and steal it?"_

_"Carmen, listen, criminals are all thieves no matter what kind of crime they commit--"_

_"Nothing could be more false--"_

_"No, listen Carmen--"_

_"Kevin you are being very extremist--"_

_"There IS no honor amongst thieves."_

_"But not all criminals are thieves."_

_"Crime is a theft of society's peace, and therefore all criminals commit thieft via that fact. Because of that, there is no honor amongst thieves, therefore, it would make sense that the rats of the lower sectors would want to take out the big cheese, and in this case the subordinates against Maroni."_

_"Unbelievable. Just-- no, I choose to deny it. I'm now even more interested in this confused terrorist attack by these Jokernauts."_

_"What DO you have to say about the situation, Carmen?"_

_"I say these idiots don't watch or read or even listen to the news. 'Release Joker, Release Joker'-- unless Jesus comes back to raise the dead or The Joker has brothers, these idiots have no bearing. They murder an executive for no reason--"_

_"No."_

_"--no reason at all--"_

_"No, there is--"_

_"And it seems like they only want to instill fear and panic in the people."_

_"No, Carmen, there's more to it. Theres--"_

CLICK.

"You mooks are gettin' soft," Hurdle said, tossing the remote control onto the table.

The other gangsters sat silently, watching the controller slide and then stop a few feet from departure.

Jésus remained as motionless as he had been since he arrived.

He came here for a reason. He wasn't going to waste needless motion.

One gangster on the left side of the table stood; a stiff-jawed white punk. "How was we s'posed to know he got moved?"

"We had no word, boss," said the man next to him.

"Maroni is under police protection; it's like trynna find The Joker."

Hurdle waved a finger at each and every one of the gangsters, "I dun give a DAMN what kind of difficulty you're comin' across. You're coming across as a JOKE. Giving us a bad name, blowing up the wrong people."

"Does it matter who dies?" inquired Fastone, who took another sidelong glance at Jésus.

"We just want Maroni dead, boss," said another gangster, tapping the table lightly.

Jésus stayed motionless. His bulky arms remained across his chest.

"Now I know that, I know that," Hurdle said. "But I dun wanna give the reigns up to you chumps anymore."

The man next to the white punk motioned to reach under his coat. "Give us another nickname, and you'll truly know that we only call YOU the boss."

Several other gangsters started to follow suit, to emphasize this point.

Hurdle didn't break a sweat.

The white punk scoffed, began to move towards Maroni. "You think we kiddin'? This no oligarchy, Hurdle. You's only boss 'cuz Maron' trusted you de most. We don' like Maroni no more. Why should we like you?"

The punk pulled out his weap--

Jésus stepped in. Grabbed the gun. Grabbed the punk. Broke the table with the punk.

All the gangsters jumped up at once, out of their seat, and away. All guns were raised and pointed at Jésus.

Jésus killed the punk.

Hurdle nodded. He looked at some of the gangsters who looked most shocked.

"Hurdle, you better explain dis," gasped Fastone. "WHO IS THIS MONSTER?!"

Jésus could feel the blood pump in his veins. 'Monster.' He vaulted the punk's body to Fastone, making the bewildered gangster collapse under the weight and force.

The gangster who sat next to the white punk readied to open fire. Jésus kicked the table upward and it rammed into the gangster. Jésus kicked again, this time his foot went right through; splinters in the air and the table splitting halfway in two. He ducked; missed gunfire, took the two halfs and began swinging away at the gangsters.

Jésus had entered a rage. Gunfire, names, fear-- all over again.

Blood covered his lenses, men cried in horror and pen, gunfires everywhere; he got nicked in the shoulder, the arm, and on the neck a few times. Minimal. He pierced a gangster through the gut with half a table. Using the other half, he went Herculean.

Hurdle didn't need to say stop.

15 gangsters used to be alive in this room. Only 3 remained. They survived only because they ran away but couldn't leave the room. When Jésus came upon them, they began to cry asked for mercy.

Jésus stopped. His breath huffed in and out, like a bear. The three gangsters shivered and looked at him with awe. Then, he turned to Hurdle.

Hurdle stepped back into the light. "SHIT, all I asked was that--"

The half-table Jésus still had slammed into his temple and sent him propelling to the side a few feet. Instant death.

Jésus dropped his weapon.

He turned back to the three living gangsters. With a gloved hand he pointed at all three of them.

"Names."

"...Kazscewski."

"Fastone."

"McAbben."

Jésus made a growl, nodding. "You and your people... my followers."

They frantically nodded. Anything to appease this beast.

He hulked over to the table's remains and picked up the remote. Clicking on the television, GCN was reporting another sighting of...

"The Batman," Jésus repeated.

Who was this Batman?

Was he a gangster? Ah, a vigilante it looks like. Cops chasing him... still. What for? Killing police officers, including the late White Knight. No one can catch him.

But he can't last for long.

He won't.

He shouldn't.

He WILL not endure.

"Gentlemen," he said. The gangsters huddle behind him, keeping a few feet between themselves and their new boss still.

"What have you done about this Batman?" he asked.

"Can't do squat, boss."

"That is going to change. Kazscewski, you and your people are Alpha. Fastone, Bravo. McAbben, Charlie. You will be my three leading soldiers. Your people WILL do as you say, or you shall do what I did to your friends here. If you cannot do it, I will have to do it myself. Alpha, I want you to slow down whatever business you are doing and focus on the Batman's sightings. Whenever he appears, note it. I want to know his haunts. Bravo, you're troublemakers. Cause enough trouble to remain uncatchable; do enough to bring the Batman. Now, Kazscewski, Fastone, GO. Tell you're people. NOW."

The two gangsters, at first befuddled, then ran out of the room.

McAbben remained motionless. If he moved, he might anger his boss.

"I need to you to gather forces," he said to the gangster.

"What kinda forces, boss?"

"Freaks. So far, anyone that could have crossed Batman and equally taken him out were freaks. Jonathon Crane, the Scarecrow. The Joker. If you could help me find Crane, we could use his brains to find other freaks just like him."

"Where to start, though, sir?"

"Study the streets. Any changes? How different did the streets act when The Joker played his silly games? How different do they act now? Do they act at all? Use your damn brain, amigo, 'tis called applied analysis."

"Yessir, yessir."

"We need to draw this Batman out or find where he lives. Finding the heart to a beast will skin him of his durable hide and leave him for Death."

"Other than finding a bag-headed scientist, who else is there to look for?!"

"...those Jokernauts. Find them."

"...you are serious."

"Find me those Jokernauts. And find me Crane."

The gangster began to leave. He stopped. He had to say it. It had been bugging him for a while.

"Y'know, boss, uh, Jésus isn't a scary name."

Pause.

"What?"

"Just giving some advice. If I say to the boys 'cuz Jésus says so' they won't find much fear." McAbben was anticipating a backhand to the face right now...

"...don't trifle me with that. It would be a pain to figure a nickname."

The gangster nodded. "What should we do when we find anything? How will we find you?"

"I will find you."

..."Okay. So, cell phones, meeting times--"

"I... will FIND you..."

The gangster began to leave.

"WAIT..."

The gangster stopped.

Jésus pondered the next step. He had to find out whatever he could about the Batman. Who came close to killing him? How? Why? What thorn could Jésus put in Batman's hide?

It had to be a good thorn... something to torment him... something to lessen his spirit, to impress upon Batman that he could not endure...

...like a bane...

...Bane...

........Bane.........

Jésus took the remaining pieces of the table and trashed them against the wall. "BAAAAANE...." he uttered.

Looking in the mirror, he marveled at the sight. Not disgusted. Marveled. The suit that supported him, the tubes that kept the flow of Venom flowing into his veins. The mask that hid his deformed face... a gas-mask... those lenses... like eyes..."Bane."

"Yes... I will be Batman's bane. Go, tell your boys I will be the Batman's Bane."

The gangster took a moment to make sense of what happened, but, he understood that Jésus had a new name. So, he left.

"His thorn... Bane."

* * *


	3. Everyone Wants Something

_Chapter 3_

_Everyone Wants Something._

"Master Wayne."

The body in the bed was dead. Or, seemed like.

"Master Bruce."

Again, no reply.

Alfred moved to the bed, seeing the young billionaire lying on his stomach and spread out across the bed. He laid the breakfast tray on the table next to the bed, and proceeded to leave the room.

"Alfred," came Bruce's energy depraved voice.

The manservant stopped, turned 360. "Yes, Master Wayne?"

Bruce then slowly sat up, though groaning. Alfred moved back to the bed, picked up the tray and laid it across Bruce's lap.

Bruce sniffed something funny. His armpits. An incline of the head, a raise of the arms, and-- _Geeze!_

"Another venture to the underworld of crime?" inquired Alfred, watching Bruce's reaction.

"Something like it," Bruce said, buttering his toast. "I had to go into the sewers to avoid Gordon's men."

"Thankfully you were not snuffed out, sir."

"Wha, don't like Essence de Mierde?"

"I prefer not to, sir."

Bruce shrugged his shoulders as in 'oh well', and then began to eat his breakfast. But as he begin his morning morsel, he recalled his dream. Then his face turned sad. Tired. Pained.

Alfred noticed this. "Did you find anything concerning Maroni, sir?"

"He's not at East Gotham."

"Oh no?"

"No. Gordon's men must have moved him again."

"And so quickly."

"I know. Gordon's up to something, or..."

"For what purpose?"

"To keep the mob chasing, no doubt. But this just doesn't seem like Gordon..."

"You believe there's some inside work."

"Cops can always be corruptible. Maroni's the head; chop it off and you get…"

"Blood, sir."

"Okay, I would have said power."

"Blood _is_ power, sir. The very word is swathed in it."

"Are you trynna say my father killed for his position of power?"

"Of course not. The power you refer to is not the same one which your father earned. Power can be righteous or self-divined. You work for it with your own blood, your own sweat and your own tears, or you pay for it, kill for it, and, in both cases, suffer the innocent."

Bruce nodded. Thinking.

"So," continued Alfred. "What do you plan to do about Maroni, sir?"

"Of course, I need to find him. But if I could just talk to Gordon-"

"You made the choice, Master Wayne. You chose to take Dent's crimes upon yourself, and Gordon's duty is to avenge him. Your remedy is to back out or let Maroni talk."

Bruce said nothing.

"Since the good of Gotham would collapse under both options, your goal is to endure the anger of the world."

Bruce nodded.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you Alfred."

"Oh, and, sir, reminder: you and Mr. Thorne are meeting with Robert Rayeth concerning Harbor Division's inspection."

"…oh yes, yes, thank you. Is that today?"

"It is, sir, at 10 o'clock."

"Crrrrap, I only have one hour. One hour to eat and-- Oh, uh, and am I supposed to congratulate someone?"

"Yes, sir, the man who cracked the terrorists' code."

"That was from our people?"

"Indeed."

"Heh, I can't ignore another hero, now."

"As you shouldn't."

"Mmhmm. Thank you Alfred, I'll get ready."

Alfred bowed his head, saying, "I'll get the car ready," and left.

And Bruce knew he would smell crap on him all day.

He then didn't feel hungry anymore. Realizing his dream again while conscious and knowing he had little time, he put the tray to the side, moved the papers off his bed-

he glanced at them momentarily. A Bombing... a killing... all in one day, yesterday.

He grimaced. Then he stood and walked to the windows.

He still lived in his 'castle' in the city, but Wayne Manor was near completion. Really near. In... what was it, a week?

A month and a half ago, Joker destroyed Harvey Dent.

Two weeks ago, Joker broke out of Arkham, along with other freaks put in there. But while escaping, apparently he had run into a door while a SWAT was coming through it, and he fell into a pool of water. He drowned.

But the others, they managed to escape. Freaks... like Crane.

The freaks were in the streets... looking just like everyone else...

And just recently, clones have popped up.

Crane would likely try to go back into selling his products onto the streets again, but that seemed unlikely considering his reputation was ruined.

And Bruce was so tired. Everyone was hunting him. Everyone was trying to find clues as to who he was. To avenge Dent.

Everyone.

Gordon... the news... the world had turned against him.

But while Bruce could not take it... Batman has to.

Batman has to endure.

_But, everyone doesn't get what they want, do they?

* * *

  
_

_I know the cheek thing is annoying to her, but, I've been doing it to her since she was a kid. I'm heavily grateful she is coming down to __Gotham__ to visit me, it's sup—_

Dalton came up. "Sir, site is clean."

Commissioner Gordon looked up. Dalton, the new MCU Lieutenant, a young, raven-black haired man, still had that look of horror on his face.

Gordon nodded. "How many assailants?"

"Witnesses say six. Minus the one left in the hotel."

"Let's go check him, then."

The Lucky 1 Hotel, a poor hotel: a sight of murder. Horrid murder. The entire first floor of apartments, the majority of those living there were murdered. Gruesomely. Even the lobby suffered deaths.

Blood smeared the walls wherever Gordon and Dalton went. Everyone was at work to record, study examine, whatever to the site. The halls were plastered with blood and smeared vegetation. Faces of The Joker: eyes and lips.

They came to Room 120. The worst one.

A body lay on the bed, stabbed and shot. The walls were painted with blood, depicting images such as men killing Batman, or Batman killing other men.

The real focus was what lay on the floor.

It was a dead Joker. A knife in his hand, he wore a clownsuit; his face gleaned in pallid white make-up and death, and had been split open by a knife to show an abnormally huge 'smile.' Fresh blood pooled from his mouth as well as the opening in his throat.

Gordon said nothing.

"Camera surveillance shows that the receptionist had joined them as they killed everyone in the lobby," said Dalton.

"Mmm. A follower."

"Yessir."

Gordon wiped his nose. "It looks like the Joker has a fanclub..."

"Anywhere you look could be him or a copy of him. It's like one bad plague, sir."

Gordon wiped the sweat of his forehead, sighing dramatically.

Dalton looked at him curiously. "Sir, are you alright?"

Gordon was lost in his mind for that moment.

"Sir?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

Gordon's eye caught sight of the newsreporters hanging outside the hotel, already starting their report. Better just give them a story. Something that'll appease 'em.

"When we get back to MCU, let's have a chat," said Gordon.

"Yessir."

Then they went outside and dealt with the newsreporters.

--------------------------

Gordon slouched in his chair, back at MCU, and Dalton took the seat across from his desk. They sat silently, not exchanging words. Gordon began pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing

"…Maroni… still missing since last night."

"And still missing."

Gordon forcibly exhaled. _Not again… this canNOT happen again._

"What I wanna know is, what was Combs doing when the van disappeared?"

"Combs' men were driving the van, sir."

"I see…"

Dalton sighed. "And I thought with the advent of Dent's work and martyrdom, we could reduce corruption."

"Corruption is an old word, lieutenant, and every person, cop or not, is given a chance to bite the apple. Combs and his men, they're just like the others. Cops want better pay, to fight for a greater ideal… or don't even know what they want. They turn. My guess is as good as yours as to why COMBS in particular took Maroni."

"Maroni still has power."

"That's right...

"...spread the word to your people. Contact Combs's families, and the families of his men; friends, whomever they know who can tell us where they are. We need Maroni back as soon as possible. Maroni is a top priority, you understand lieutenant?"

"Yessir. If word is on the street, I'll assign some men to find out."

"Okay; then tell those guys to be careful."

"Yessir."

"And keep me updated on the hunt of the Jokers; if we can find who's running the operation--"

"Sir, I..."

"...What?"

"Well…"

"…well what?"

"…Maroni, top priority?"

"Yes?"

"I'm merely saying... shouldn't we still focus on capturing the Batman?"

"That has _never_ been out of the focus. But we still need Maroni. The mob is stone cold with him in our custody. Anyone could take the seat from him. Let's hope Combs isn't running the business, and cannot get Maroni's secret out, but the SOONER we find them we'll know."

"…yessir."

Gordon nodded. "Alright. Well, get right on it then."

Dalton "Yessir"'d and then left the office.

Gordon took a breath, and exhaled. He took off his glasses and laid them on the desk, glaring at the papers that became larger in the lens of his seeing glass. The office, still his. He chose to stay at MCU.

He promised the people he would take down the Batman personally, and said he could only do it if he worked on the ground, with MCU, his people.

In fact, the newsreporter inquired as to why the Batman wasn't at the Hotel.

Gordon couldn't answer. He still could not answer. He, too, wondered where Batman was that night.

Jokers popping up... terrorism. Maroni kidnapped... possible mob insurrection.

_At least I get to pinch her cheek. Seeing her react will make me smile._

* * *

He knew he was a hero. He always knew.

_Heroes do good work. They actually do things because they are smart enough to accomplish them._

Dumb people cannot be heroes.

It just didn't work that way.

Eddy was sitting in his office, pondering the next crossword.

Five letters… accidental fish—

"Fluke." He wrote it down in the crossword puzzle.

Smart. As usual.

Having graduated from Gotham Uni, Eddy got hired by Wayne Enterprises and got placed in Harbor Divisions, an attachment to R&D in the development of better computers. Eddy's office was always messy, even though everyones' offices were messy. His was messier. He was always working on something, even non-work related.

He acquired that custom of always doing something when working for the carnival, during his summers while at Gotham U. He abhorred standing around all day doing nothing. So he always brought a notebook. Initially he drew pictures because he liked art, but, soon felt he had no artistic ability.

At least, with pictures and that other shmindlidingly.

Instead he made up stories.

He liked making stories. Especially ones where the audience couldn't understand the ending.

The ending was very important. All themes collide and mesh, all conflicts come to an end (or some, depending on whether a sequel is wanted), a CLASH! Boom, heroes win, villains get punished.

Though after a while of writing, Edward got pressured for time.

So he wrote shorter stories, and he liked to call them 'Nygmatic Riddles.'

And the first riddle he ever cracked, he used it a lot to fool visitors to the carnival into paying more for the ride. Yes, back to high school... Mr. Bronze, his high school English teacher, gave his class a riddle. If anyone got it right, it would be a stepping stone into attaining a scholarship to GU. Almost everyone didn't care because it was a really hard riddle.

But Edward did. And he answered it.

_And it's a damn good thing no one ever found out I cheated._

_Knock knock _on his door._  
_

"Heya, Eddy…" Kyle's voice drifted.

Eddy wheeled around in his chair, facing Kyle, his co-worker, who leaned on the door.

"Hey hey, Kyle XY!" he replied, cheerfully. Always cheerful, always excited. Everyone in school hated his optimistic nature. So, Eddy chose not to deal with those people. Ever. Unless they were dumb enough to be coerced.

"Yeah, 'eeeyyyy, Eddy," Kyle said, walking in. "How're the numbers looking?"

"Oh! Well, let's take a gandy, shall we…" Eddy span around to face his computer.

Kyle chuckled, picking up one of Eddy's toys from the desk. "Y'know, you're quite the star around here, eh?"

Eddy chuckled. "Well, can't be a hard-worker and NOT do hard work, eh?"

Kyle then put the toy down and glanced at Eddy's screen. "Did you even DO the report, Ed?"

"YES, I DID…!" Eddy murmured tensely yet jokingly as he closed out his web access and opened up his documents.

"You're slacking on the job, Eddy!" Kyle laughed.

"Am notttttt."

"Come on, Eddy, you didn't do your work and you're trynna cover it up."

Eddy turned around suddenly. "Am not, Kyle, now HUSH." he sighed. "The last thing I need is another 'Edward, please explain to me your lethargy, please.'" Roll of the eyes and a scoff, he turned back to his computer and finally found the shortcut to the file he needed. "Things I'd like to do to get Bob off of me…"

"Like getting him fired? Eh, dun think the head honcho would like ya getting one of his subordinates fired."

"Ya know what I like?"

"Hmm, do tell."

Eddy grinned, stopped searching and turned to Kyle. "...I like... candy, but it's for my beak. I should train my brain, but my eyes are strained. Money's a gateway, I'm not any younger: call me dumb or call me plainer. Who am I?"

Kyle blinked. Thought for a few seconds...

Eddy grinned even wider.

"...college kid?"

"Bingo," said Eddy. Then back to his computer. "AH! Here we are," Eddy said, emphatically tapping the screen for Kyle to see.

Kyle looked, studied… and nodded. "Alright. Good, Ed, ya got it."

"Aaaaas usual: I DO!" Eddy laughed.

"So do explain to me your lethargy; why dontcha just tell Bob you got it done and move onto his next assignment?"

"BECAUSE…" Eddy turned it down to a whisper. He wanted to say it: no, not now. And he couldn't even tell Kyle.

Kyle started to get interested. "'cause what?"

"I'm…" oh he just had to! "I'm doing a little side project."

"What is it?"

"…it's…" what to do, what to do… think!

"Heya, Ed," in came Rebecca. "You, uh, are needed on the floor."

Eddy checked his watch.

Yep. Time.

A nervous smile. "Coming, Becca."

Becca left. Kyle looked at Ed, grinning. "Mmm, things I'd do for a degree like yours."

Ed shrugged, closing his files and standing up, stretching at the same time. "Things everyone wants to do, eh?" he then looked upon his desk, and looked at the next clue:

**Not a flying rat.**

Ed grinned. Easy.

"Bat." He wrote.

"Well… anyone could answer the crosswords, Nygma."

Ed just shrugged. "Well: everyone wants something."

And then they left his office for the meeting on the floor.

This would be his chance… his ONE chance. Perhaps he could tell Bruce Wayne his project?

* * *


End file.
